One Word
by Lornfaer
Summary: There's only one word to describe Pete Mitchell...Oneshot for now. IceMaverick


**Okay, this just came out when I opened up Word one day. I never really planned it out, just wrote what popped in my head. Hope you like it. Or at least that you don't hate it. I apologize in advance for any mistakes that may be in here. I did proofread it, but it was three in the morning... **

**Title: One Word**

**Warning: Sex (of the male/male variety), some language...**

**Disclaimer: I own neither these characters nor the movie from which they hail.**

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He slammed Maverick's back against the wall, his hands roaming everywhere. He slid his tongue over a nipple and the whimper the action wrenched from Maverick was exquisite. Ice looked up at Maverick, whose face was one to behold. His eyes were at half-mast, giving them a sultry effect and his lips were bruised from the attentions Ice had given them earlier. The flush that painted Maverick's features was a compliment and Ice groaned. He flipped him, so Maverick was facing the wall and hurriedly undid his belt. Maverick grabbed one of Ice's hands, laving his fingers generously. Both pairs of pants hit the floor and Ice braced himself against the wall with one arm. He prepped Maverick roughly, but he didn't complain. He grunted as Ice removed his fingers, staring at the arm that Ice was using to hold himself up. Ice pushed in with one forceful stroke and hit that spot that made stars explode behind Maverick's eyes. God it hurt, but it was _good_. 

Ice moaned, tightening his grip on Maverick's hip. He knew it had to be excruciating for Maverick, but he could barely control himself. He'd definitely gained a reputation for his composure. He was always cool and collected; when he flew, when he drank, talked, even during sex.

Not with Maverick. His scent, his taste, the way he trembled under Ice's fingers as he stroked him, _everything_ drove him crazy.

Pete Mitchell had gotten under his skin. At first he'd just thought it was the competition. The man was a damn good pilot, so to Ice, proving he was better was fun and satisfying. Then he'd hated Maverick. At least, he'd wanted to. The man was so fucking _annoying_ sometimes! He didn't follow the book and was downright dangerous! However, that had changed. The disdain he'd held for Maverick had shifted to a strange but justified respect. The man was an excellent flyer and he'd saved Ice's ass during that dogfight. Ice wasn't sure when all of that had built to the point of obsession, but soon it had come to be that the only thing Ice could think of was Maverick. Maverick, Maverick, Maverick! He slammed into him again and again as he stared at the back of his head.

Maverick _tried_ to be quiet, he really did, but he ended up gasping and panting harshly anyway. To be fair, Ice was groaning and grunting right along with him. He really couldn't be expected to completely withhold his pleasure; Ice was hitting his prostate with every thrust and he stroked Maverick, his hand moving as his hips did. Ice applied more pressure and picked up his pace, causing Maverick to cry out and come all over the wall. Ice followed shortly after, Maverick's muscles tightening on his length sending him over the edge. Maverick struggled relentlessly to control his breathing, but it was hard when Ice rested his forehead on one sweaty shoulder. Ice turned his face into Maverick's neck, breathing in deeply, memorizing his scent in case he never got this chance again. He pulled out carefully, wincing, his cock incredibly sensitive now. He pulled his shirt back over his head, glancing over to where Maverick was tugging on his pants.

The only sound that could be heard was the rustling of fabric against skin and Ice sighed. He wasn't sure how to talk about this, or if Maverick even wanted to. As the man was fully dressed now and about to leave, he guessed not. Ice stopped Maverick with a hand on his shoulder. Pete turned to him, his expression unreadable. Ice opened his mouth to speak when Maverick moved forward, closing the space between them. His lips descended, burning onto Ice's without mercy. He flicked his tongue over Ice's bottom lip, biting it harshly. Maverick pulled away first, grinning, and swept out without a word. Ice collapsed onto the bench in the locker room, running his hands through his hair.

"What now?" Tom asked the lockers. His eyes zeroed in on the one with Maverick's name on it. He touched his lips, a little dazed. He couldn't focus on anything but the electricity running through his body and lips. One thing was for certain: Pete Mitchell had him hook, line, and sinker.

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"Ice!" Maverick jogged to catch up. Tom stopped and waited, smiling slightly when Maverick came up beside him. His voice dropped and he asked, "What are you doing tonight?" His eyes, glinting blue and slightly predatory bored into Ice's and it made him a bit uncomfortable. He could feel stirring in his groin and he swallowed, though his mouth was paper-dry.

"Uh...was just planning on staying home." Ice immediately wished he'd lied. Maverick's eyes shimmered with mirth and he raised a brow.

"Home, huh? Really livin' it up, aren't you?" Ice rolled his eyes, making Maverick grin. He leaned in a little closer. "What were you planning on _doing_ at home?" Maverick was so close his breath was lingering with Ice's. Ice swallowed again. Just the way Maverick said "doing" caused Ice to shiver ever-so-slightly.

Ice cleared his throat. "Pizza and a movie." He glanced down at his shoes and then realized how he was acting. This wasn't him, he wasn't timid or nervous. A tiny seed of anger welled up inside him. He boldly met Maverick's gaze, which just egged the other man on.

"Ice, you party animal!" Maverick chuckled. Ice glared at him and he raised his palms in surrender. "How 'bout you relocate your festivities to my place?" Ice's mouth hung open for a fraction of a second before he nodded. Maverick grinned again and handed him a folded up piece of paper. "Directions." Maverick clarified when Ice just looked at him.

"I know the way." Ice replied, stuffing the paper in his pocket regardless. Maverick just stared and Ice smirked at his confusion.

"How...?" Maverick trailed off. Ice just continued to smile, but his brow furrowed a bit as he considered something.

"You were planning on asking me to your house anyway, weren't you?" Ice felt a flutter in his stomach. _What the hell was **that? **_He opted not to hide his joy at this realization and beamed. Maverick cleared his throat and suddenly found the ground fascinating. Ice glanced around and seeing no one, gripped Maverick's collar and yanked him forward. Their lips came together hard and their teeth clashed. Ice pulled back far enough to whisper against Maverick's lips, "Nine okay?"

"Yeah." Maverick responded, smiling. He pressed his lips to Ice's again and walked backwards to his bike, eyes never leaving Ice. He flashed the patented "Pete Mitchell, certified danger-loving badass" grin and swung a leg over his bike. He slipped on his aviators and kicked the bike to life, roaring out of the lot. It wasn't until he was almost out of sight that he looked back over his shoulder at Ice. The man was something else. Something there was only one word for:

_Maverick._

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**I'll leave this as a one-shot for now, but I might add to it if asked.**

**Like it? Hate it? Well, how do I know if you don't review? So...review please! **

**Thanks for reading!**


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